


Mutamarid ( متمرد )

by vacci_piano



Series: Omega Assassins [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altaïr might be a sociopath, Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Mpreg, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Omega Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Violence, sadistic Altaïr, tagging this as Explicit just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vacci_piano/pseuds/vacci_piano
Summary: You can force an omega, you cannot force an alpha. Right?
Relationships: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Abbas Sofian, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Other(s), Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Series: Omega Assassins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704466
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	Mutamarid ( متمرد )

He is hardly the only omega amongst the Assassins, but he is one of the few, and he is unrivaled in skill despite his age. It grates the alphas. The others want to look down on him so badly, so he accepts their scorn with unabashed glee.

Soon, his confidence is dubbed arrogance, not just by the jealous, but by Malik and Al Mualim. Arrogance has become his unbecoming – or so they say. Altaïr only does what is of benefit to himself; this, he does not contest. Why should he pretend to feel otherwise?

Yet, the words sting.

Becoming a novice once again had been a bigger blow than losing his intended alpha.

*

Omegas do not choose their alphas. Alphas choose other alphas _for_ the omegas. Al Mualim had promised Altaïr relative freedom due to his skill with the blade. The alpha chosen for him had not stirred anything inside him at first, and in truth, Altaïr preferred the alpha's younger brother whose eyes lit up every time they were in a room together. Kadar idolized him, and perhaps that was why their possibility for a union was ignored. Or maybe it was the alpha's youth. Altaïr needs a stern hand, and Kadar would have cherished him, bowed to his superiority. So it came to be that he was promised to another Assassin, yes, but he was not expected to _honor_ his omegan duties until later.

A severed arm and a dead brother were all it took to change that.

His new intended alpha despises him. Altaïr himself feels very ambivalent towards his former friend. It amuses him to be the center of so much ire from Abbas – who despises him for the very same qualities he possesses himself – so long as he does not have to suffer through a bonding with the man.

Alas.

*

Al Mualim insists he learn obedience through submitting himself to Abbas.

*

He is a trained Assassin. Pain and torture do not scare him. Something like this would hardly make him cry, but he would be a liar if he said the thought of an arranged mating does not smart him.

He has never lain with anyone before, has never _wanted_ to, so he does not know what to expect, despite what he has been told. Abbas is more than happy to give him guidance, inspired as he is by his old sentiment for Altaïr when they had both presented as boys and Abbas had promised to take care of the omega.

“Look here,” Abbas grunts as he strokes himself to completion, a bulbous swelling taking form at the base. “This is going inside you, when we mate. ”

Altaïr does not say anything, a frown marring his face. His own penis is normal. _This_... is an abomination.

Abbas laughs, as if Altaïr is the one displaying his privates and making a fool out of himself. All the while Altaïr thinks how easily his blade could cut into the ugly flesh, jutted on display as it is, _begging_ to be removed. He stays his hand. It has been made _very clear_ he is to submit himself to Abbas. Disobedience will not be tolerated. And try as he might, he does not detest the boy he had known, once, even as the man before him flashes his angry teeth.

He would suffer through this.

Does not mean he has to like it, and they both know it. He suspects it is why Abbas has agreed to take him as his omega, ready to see him give up control.

*

Altaïr's heat is not due for at least a few months, but they are worried he will not submit if he is given time to plot, unconcerned with rules as he is. Perhaps they are right.

Somehow he has always known Abbas would be the first to claim him. Even when he was promised to Malik, Abbas would have found a way. It does not bother him as much as he thinks it should.

Altaïr readies himself for the task with cool detachment, his lower back supported by a pillow, as the warm head finally breaches him. Abbas groans in satisfaction. The alpha had not bothered to prepare him, had not bothered to coax more slick out of Altaïr, and so the stab of pain leaves him with a dull, burning sensation, though it lessens somewhat after a few dozen thrusts. To his disappointment, pleasure never comes. Abbas lets out a few breathy laughs when he takes note of Altaïr's lack of enthusiasm.

Altaïr rolls his eyes and before Abbas can open his mouth and ruin the moment further, he flips them over, Altaïr on top as the monotone pace comes to an abrupt stop. Altaïr looks down at Abbas with all the disdain he can muster.

“You are terrible at this.” It is all the warning Abbas gets, before Altaïr starts riding him hard.

The pressure transforms into something manageable. It does not excite him, but it is better than before and he is almost certain he could come from this eventually, given enough time. Abbas seems to like it enough for the both of them.

“Always knew you were a whore,” Abbas moans. “Knew you would be eager for my knot even without a heat.” He does not get to say more as Altaïr's strong hands wrap around his neck and squeeze.

Altaïr has seen enough hanged corpses, has strangled a few men himself, to know how the body reacts to such violence. The offensive body part breaching his inner walls becomes unyielding and rigid, even harder than before when Abbas had been enjoying himself.

Eyes watering, Abbas gurgles, his body trashing as he tries – and fails – to get Altaïr to loosen his grip. Altaïr feels a stirring of excitement as the alpha's lips start turning blue and the body becomes slack, before Altaïr finally lets go. He knew the knot was coming, knew it would be painful. He just expected more pleasure to come along with it.

The assassin allows himself a final grimace, and what little arousal he has managed to work up, wilts at the uncomfortable intrusion; he would not be surprised to learn his small ring of muscle has been torn. He is even less enthusiastic about the resulting seed pouring inside. He knows he will not get pregnant, as his body has yet to accept Abbas as his mate, but it still feels unpleasant.

All the stories he has heard about needy omegas hanging off their alphas’ knots seem so much more ridiculous now; not that he has ever deluded himself into believing in them in the first place. Those stories are told by alphas.

He waits until Abbas regains consciousness.

“Well?” Altaïr asks the alpha with impatience. “Are you not going to give me the bite?”

Abbas looks pale and sweaty, alternating between coughing and taking big gulps of air, his body still shaking from the ordeal, and Altaïr knows he has won when his question is left unanswered. He is not smiling but his malicious glee must have shown somehow, because Abbas scrambles to get away, only to be betrayed by the alpha's own knot. They both hiss in discomfort at the pull that will not yield.

*

Omegas are supposed to be meek. Docile.

*

Al Mualim can say nothing when Abbas informs his master he will not bond with Altaïr. You can force an omega; you cannot force an alpha. What is there to be said?

There are a few alphas after that, but none of them like what they see; what they are forced to go through. They turn up with cuts and large bruises, offering apologies to Al Mualim.

For an omega who has been bedded by so many alphas, there are curiously almost no rumors, no jabs at his character or his ruined virtue. No snide comments about how used his hole must be, attended by so many alphas as he has been. Those who would have said something before, have nothing to say now that they have had a taste of what they have always wanted.

*

Malik's pyrrhic victory offers him no peace, but he is determined to keep going, if only out of spite. His new role keeps him busy, and information about Altaïr – besides his fall in rank – has been scarce. What he now hears is enough to make him ill.

He knew Al Mualim had plans for Altaïr, but he had told himself he did not care when he renounced the omega. He had suspected Altaïr would get paired with another alpha, but he had been under the assumption there would be a waiting period, like there had been when the omega was still Malik's intended.

He certainly had not expected for Al Mualim to be so callous towards his once prized pupil as to _force_ Altaïr to mate. And then, to learn that it was not just one alpha, but one of several that followed... It weighs upon him.

Malik had wanted Altaïr punished for failing his Creed; he had not meant for Altaïr to be punished for being an omega.

“Safety and peace, Malik.” Malik almost drops a book, startled by the very person he is agonizing about.

Altaïr looks... fine. More than fine. He looks unbothered, haughty, like _he_ has better things he could be doing because _his_ time is more valuable. At least he has the decency not to outright smirk for catching the Dai unawares.

Irritation replacing Malik's concern, he holds himself back from outright snarling at the novice – it is not like he was not informed Altaïr would be visiting his bureau – but he still manages to convey his displeasure at being in Altaïr's company. “Your presence here deprives me of both. What do you want?”

*

It still bothers him, but he does not bring it up.

From what he has heard, there are no more alphas in line for the omega.

*

Malik told him to rest – Altaïr chooses to ignore the rest of the comment – and so he does just that.

The day is warmer than usual as Altaïr sprawls over the pillows, the light from outside dancing on his white robes. He lays down his equipment, pulls down his hood, and removes the layer of clothing from his upper torso, erupting into goosebumps as the cool air of the hideout greets him, giving his sweaty skin relief from the heat. His nipples are hard from the change in temperature and he rubs at them absently to bring them back to their natural state; instead, it only serves to make them more pointed.

There is a clatter as Malik's precious books are knocked down from one of the shelves and Malik scrambles to put them in order again. Altaïr gazes at him in wonder; Malik is not prone to clumsiness. Maybe he has been outside in the sweltering heat? Although judging by the man's complexion – his days spent inside the bureau evident – it seems unlikely.

Just now, though, the complexion looks flushed. Reddened.

Malik might be the leader of the Jerusalem bureau, but right now he looks like prey.

*

Altaïr does not understand why he is suddenly so interested in Malik, only that he is. The more Malik resists his advances, the more he wants to corner the man and make him cry. Malik never will, of course, and he supposes that is part of the charm.

When Malik was still whole, the alpha criticized Altaïr's rash decisions, but he always held back for the sake of his intended, and because Kadar found it upsetting whenever he got too vicious.

Nothing is holding Malik back now.

Malik treats him like shit, either sarcasm or disdain – or both – dripping from every word muttered. And not once has the alpha made disparaging references to Altaïr's omegan nature, despite Altaïr's clear attempts to coax him into doing so; this, he must conclude, is a game he cannot win. He is no match for Malik's verbal prowess and he doubts even one hundred years would grant him an edge, sharp enough to cut the alpha.

He takes to bothering Malik whenever he finds himself in the same city – despite the repetitive grunt work, he is efficient – but somehow, he is never good enough for the alpha’s standards. It grates on his nerves, being told what to do. That there could be a better way to handle things – that he should pause and reconsider his already made plans – lessens his mood considerably when he remembers Malik’s much higher station. Altaïr knows his position as a – as a _novice_ , God fuck him – is only temporary, but even his previous rank doesn’t compare to the Dai. And yes, perhaps Malik is gifted with better plans.

He is forced to swallow back any taunts or insults he may want to gift Malik with, instead hurling them at any passing guard. Most of the time these situations escalate and he succeeds in making himself into a target for a citywide manhunt, and then he has to wait the alarms to peter out until he can seek refuge in Malik's bureau, which, again, leaves him pent up with frustration. It is a vicious cycle.

*

The first time Malik refrains from outright insulting him, Altaïr is taken aback; and then he makes the mistake of opening his mouth. Malik scolds him without venom, without care, and the words leave him haunted.

_That you expect praise for merely doing as told, however, troubles me._

He does not recall a time he has felt this lost; something is wedged deep inside his chest and it unsettles him.

 _You are mistaken_ , he thinks. _That I expect praise from you troubles me._

He does not immediately leave Malik's presence and ride back to Masyaf as instructed, after Malik's dismissal. The alpha has gone back to playing with his maps. Altaïr stares at the divider compass before he steps forward and knocks it out of Malik’s hand.

Malik misses his chance to complain when Altaïr is already pulling the alpha towards him by the front of his robes, both men bent at an uncomfortable angle over the counter as the omega smashes their mouths together. It is inelegant, born from fury; more teeth than tongue. Malik is prevented from pulling away – his efforts are half–hearted at best – and even if he knew what he wanted his next action to be, he is too unmoored to make sense of the situation. Altaïr does not stop until he has stolen enough from Malik. And then, he is gone.

Malik is swaying on his feet. There is not enough _air_. The map is smudged and creased from Malik’s fingers and the alpha hisses in annoyance when his eyes take in the damage.

*

Al Mualim tells him Altaïr is to be his intended omega before dismissing them both.

They do not talk; they do not look at each other. Instead, they walk in stunned silence to the courtyard – the only place in the world that makes sense right now – where they take up position and parry their swords; Malik is more skilled at wielding a sword, but there is a look on Altaïr's face, the kind Malik has never seen. It is clear he has not been told about their union in advance, either.

Malik finds himself on his back, a sword to his neck and a boot pressing down on his chest.

Altaïr's expression gives nothing away, but it is clear he intends to get an honest answer. “Will you have me on my back like this?”

Malik thinks about his brothers. The bet about who will get to bed Altaïr first is well–known even among their mentors. He does not have the same fascination some of them have with wanting to witness the omega take several knots in succession and beg for more.

The desire to know what an omega feels like is not entirely unknown to Malik; he has even thought about Altaïr, when the nights are too hot and he is too tired to consider who or what he is thinking about, so he can finally get some sleep.

But he also thinks about how it is only because of Altaïr's omegan side that he has thought about Altaïr like that at all. The omegas he usually thinks about have no names; their holes are wet and greedy, able to offer pleasure and nothing else. The Altaïr he thinks about most often is the boy he has known all his life, not the omega he has dreamed about.

“No,” he finally answers and is almost surprised to learn he means it. Altaïr removes his sword and stalks away like a big cat that has tired of playing with its food. “We will see,” he promises, already gone when Malik gets to his feet.

When the sun leaves the sky, Altaïr joins him and his brother at the dinner table. The news of their union has reached everyone by now, but they do not talk about it.

*

The next time the Dai greets the novice, they fall into conversation about plans, more at ease with each other. Neither brings up the kiss.

*

When Altaïr met Adha, the omega preyed on him, admitting defeat with a quiet ‘ _oh_ ’ when she realized _why_ he remained unaffected. Something like kinship grew between them, and Altaïr thought about the world outside, a different life, ripe with opportunities. Adha told him about tricks to make alphas submit. (Altaïr had not fully understood her hunger, but he had listened.)

In return, Altaïr told her about his intended alpha.

“But is he who you want?” She had asked, because someone had to, and even if he did not care, she did.

He had made sure every worthless _son of a whore_ responsible for her fate suffered in their final moments, and still it left him feeling empty; his only friend in the world was dead.

Death had made a mistake and claimed her too soon. Declared prey by lesser men, in life she had been anything but. In another world, he could have been prey, too. In this world, he is an Assassin.

With Adha dead – his world barren – and nowhere else to go, he returned to his brothers. Her death had shaped him into something _other_. Perhaps it is why he grew disillusioned with the Creed. Perhaps it was why he allowed tragedy to breed more tragedy, leading Kadar and Malik towards theirs.

He had his reasons, but did he have the right?

*

Altaïr apologizes, only to learn Malik needs no apology from the man he has become. Despite all their years of knowing each other, it might be the first time they are truly at ease with each other. Malik's voice could almost be called fond. Inviting. A strange _something_ comes over the omega and he pushes Malik to the ground, pulling at the Dai's robes until he can use his mouth to bring pleasure to the alpha.

Malik tries to resist at first, but the back of his head slams to the ground with a shout as the hot mouth envelops him and he is left whimpering and gasping as he gets sucked in deeper. His body twitches in big jerks when the knot starts forming at the base and Altaïr pulls off, only to catch Malik's release with his tongue and lap up everything that spills out; thumbs squeezing at the knot until the alpha is done with cursing.

Malik uses the last of his energy to push himself up on his elbow so he can look at Altaïr with utter disbelief when the omega finally speaks. “I have never done this before,” and it is the last thing Malik hears before he has to lay back down, close his eyes and wait for his heart to slow down.

Altaïr gives him a few more pumps until the knot starts deflating, then he pushes the foreskin back into place.

*

There is a hunger in him that keeps the alpha on his toes. Altaïr has finally learned how to prey on Malik and it is a beautiful thing to witness. He wonders if Adha would be proud.

He does not go as far as before, only because he does not need to. It takes barely any effort on his part to crowd against Malik and whisper _filthy_ promises he intends to keep that bring a healthy flush to the alpha's cheeks. Oh, the alpha manages to somehow push him back – whether it is with the help of a book or on one memorable occasion, an entire chair – but Altaïr's influence is clear to them both. Altaïr can smell it from the alpha's changing scent and his disobedient hands can feel it.

 _Soon_.

*

Translations:

Mutamarid ( متمرد ) = insurgent, rebellious, disobedient

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Malik.
> 
> I really wanted to use the Arabic curse word for 'son of a whore' but couldn't figure out if I should use Levantine Arabic or MSA or what... If anyone fluent in Arabic (and familiar with the kind of Arabic Altaïr would have used) could help me out, I'd love to edit the word in.


End file.
